How to Train the Next Generation
by TheRaven'sComputerDesk
Summary: The second generations of Dragon Riders find their own obstacles to overcome.


"The trick to picking a decent dragon is to let _it _pick _you._" The smith master bellowed. His Scottish droll over enunciated every vowel with a slight roll to it. And when he was giving an example or training, as he was now, he accented his meaning with vivid movements and gestures. It looked a bit comical; given his faux hand was a hook at the moment. Mag had heard the tales of what it was meant for originally (and could scarcely believe that it was used in dragon slaying, rather than dragon riding, given how fond the blacksmith was of the creatures) and was intrigued at how it was only one of an arsenal of interchangeable weaponry.

They were so easily exchanged on a daily basis, and her inventive mind was in the process of making several new 'hands', just like her father. She wasn't about to write them down or map them out, her genius wasn't nearly as mechanical as Hiccup's was, but came through drawings and stories, and scripture. Her father told her that, if she were to have grown up alongside him, she would have been the laughing stock of Berk for such outlandish thinking. Much like himself.

This was also fairly unbelievable. The community was so open to his ideas and contraptions (though the mechanisms he did create usually had their bought of complete failure or worse, combusting, right before the final project was realized) that him ever being excluded for being so creative boggled her mind. But, so did the whole 'Vikings kill dragons' thing, which was apparently pretty big back then.

Another thing she could barely wrap her mind around was that her mother and father could have ever been at odds. Astrid had told her many times of how much she wished she had been friends with Hiccup, even before the Dragon Revolution. That they weren't at least friends was harder still to believe, given that Mag had the constant job of saying 'keep it subtle for once' or 'Great Odin's Ghost, would you two get OFF of each other?'. And there was also 'Mommy and Daddy's special time' every first, third, and fifth day of the week where she was nearly kicked out of her home at night to sleep over at Wick's house.

Speaking of Wick…why was the brunette flailing her arms at her like that? She was such a strange girl - oh…

"Magpie, how about you? What do you think?" Gobber crossed his beefy arms, that toothy smirk playing over his lips.

"Uhm…well, I think that…" The blonde's eyes searched frantically for some hint of what Gobber could possibly have been talking about… no dice… rolling her eyes, she thought _that I should probably listen more _was too obvious of an answer. So she improvised."…I think that's a great idea?" Wick, on the other side of the half circle smacked her forehead with a heavy hand. Uh oh.

"Fantastic. Well, go on! Mount up on that Deadly Nadder over there. She won't bite." The Nadder? She was supposed to train on _that _narcissistic, preening, egg head? Even her own mother's mount didn't seem to like her, and she doubted this one would be much different. That particular breed seemed to despise Mag the most, out of any other. And as she approached the bright orange raptor and heard it hiss in disapproval, she doubled that thought.

"Remember to stay out of its blind spot. It's important to do that with every mount, but this species in particular is rather flighty. Wouldn't want to get a kick from her!" The smith called from behind her. Was that…reassurance in his voice? How was warning her of what might happen if she screws up supposed to reassure her?

"Put your hand on her neck, and run it to her flank. There you go. See? Now she's getting down so you can get on. Very good Magpie!" That much had gone right, and as she climbed on and settled into the training saddle, she felt relief wash over her in a flood - that quickly dried away as the MONSTER STARTED RUNNING STRAIT FOR THE WALL! And abruptly threw her out of the saddle in a fast turn that sent her careening upside-down into the wood and chain link barrier.

The world was a spinning mass of color and pain, her stomach a whirlwind of panic and roughly tossed breakfast. If it weren't for her mother's strong genes, she would have lost her lunch right there.

Two figures approached from the other side of the arena, one pair of matched fur boots, the other with a boot connecting to a chubby, stout leg and its match, a pegged leg.

"I don't think she much likes you…" Gobber conversationally commented as he pried Mag off of the wall with his training hook and plucked a few splinters out of her arm, before setting her down correctly onto wobbly feet.

"That was possibly the best riding failure I've seen from you yet, 'Pie!" Havenwic said, while planting a firm fist into Mag's shoulder. As her best friend, she assumed this was 'affection', but it still hurt.

"Gobber, I think we can pretty much count the Nadder off of my possible mount list, as well." She said, brushing stray debris from the forced dismount off of her riding skirt.

"Well sweetheart, you've pretty much run yourself out of options then. Besides the Gronckle." To which Magpie gave him a hideous look of disapproval. "And that's pretty unlikely, too."

"No, I'm not out of options yet. Bring a Night Fury to training sometime, I do great with Toothless when dad takes me up!" Her bright eyes, blue just like her mother's, twinkled with conviction.

"You know I can't. If I do bring one in, it'll have to be a paired one. And if you train on it, become good, then you won't have a dragon to take your final exam on! You know just as well as I do that you must have your own dragon, and can't use the one you train on. All of the few Night Furies that there are in Berk are partnered, all accounted for-" "Except. For. HIM!" The blonde pointed fiercely to the black form prowling much like a panther on the top most ringlets of the training arena. A hand almost as large as her own head gently lowered her arm. "You know that he's too small to carry you. You're one of the tiniest, lightest people on the island, even smaller than your father was when he was training and that dragon still wouldn't be able to carry you. You can't ride him." The girl was seething.

"How could you possibly _know_ that? No one has even tried! Ever since he hatched, everyone has avoided him, what if we where to simply _try _training with him!" Her crystalline eyes focused back on the small black creature. He was about two-thirds the size of Toothless. If she simply packed light, and ate a little less- and audible grumble from her stomach disagreed- then maybe she could ride him…

"'Pie, I don't think that would work…" Wick cut in, the gruff tone of her voice faded a little, her awful posture straightening significantly as her hand gripped Magpie's shoulder. She shrugged it off weakly.

"You don't know him. No one does." Her gaze never left the dragon. He seemed to notice, as his own two green orbs fixed on her. _I will figure out a way to ride you… _

Magpie turned sharply and stormed off, pushing through the newest recruits. Her hair, partially braided, flopped harshly from shoulder to shoulder with her heavy strides. Gobber tried after her for a moment, before a hand hooked on his arm, pulling the blacksmith's attention back to the brunette.

"If anyone's gonna talk to her, it's gotta be me. I'm her best friend." Gobber nodded mournfully, then took in a monstrous breath and hobbled back towards the other trainees. Havenwic looked back for a moment before trudging on towards her friend who had gained some distance away from the arena.

* * *

"Hey, 'Pie, wait up!" Wic called from behind, a slight air of breathlessness in her voice. She _was_ nearly sprinting up the hill to her friend. Magpie stopped a few feet short of the top and turned halfway, still not making eye contact with the brunette. She was upset at both her and Gobber. And maybe a little with herself. _Why can't I find a suitable dragon? Thor Almighty, if this doesn't happen soon, I'm not going to be able to graduate!_

"Yes, Havenwic?" Oh, she wasn't just upset, she was downright angry. She never called her friend by her full name, unless she really meant business.

"'Pie, I know you're upset, but…well…Gods, I must sound like a lunatic…uhm, I want to help you." Wick paused for a second, eyeing Magpie to see if anything was sinking in. The blonde glanced over at her, and she took it as a sign to continue. "Ride that dragon, I mean. The midget Night Fury."

With one vivid movement, in what could have been described as dishearteningly fast, Magpie put a kick square to the center of Havenwic's chest sending the taller and much stronger girl to the ground. With a solid _thunk_, she hit the grass which was thankfully soft, with the season providing such. Giving her friend a questioning glance and herself a pained groan, she shimmied into a sitting position and waited for an excuse.

"THAT was for insulting my dragon." Magpie put her hands on her hips for emphasis. "And this," she sat down next to Havenwic, a bit farther away than she usually did. "is because you're probably the only person on this pitiful island who knows me well enough to humor my ideas." Wick figured the pause afterword was meant for her to continue. She waited for a moment before speaking, trying to read Magpie for her emotion.

"I think you could do it. I'm pretty sure someone my size couldn't, but you're so darn small I figure you could do it with some practice. He's probably not strong enough _yet…_" She stopped, as to emphasize the yet. "…but I bet we could get him in shape for flight." Havenwic gave a tiny smile, that melted into a smirk reminiscent of her mother, Ruffnut's. As did her crooked teeth. She then removed her headband, shook her unruly black hair (that was the one trait she inherited from her father, besides her prideful attitude and biting sarcasm) then blew a couple stubborn pieces out of her eyes.

"Alright. But you can't say _anything _to _anyone_. Got it?" Magpie gave a classic Astrid glare, then stuck out a hand to make the promise official.

"Agreed." Havenwic took her friends hand, then the two leaned their heads in and pressed their foreheads together for a moment, breathing the same air. When they finally began to lean back, Magpie began to help her friend.

"But, one problem." Wic added right as the blonde was pulling her up from the ground.

"How are you going to convince your father to make you an extra small riding sa-?" After the first syllable of 'saddle' passed over Havenwic's lips, she was promptly dropped back to the ground by a wide-eyed, mouth gaping Magpie.

"…That might complicate things."

* * *

"Hiccup, I don't get it." The elder blacksmith grumbled. "Magpie is the perfect student in nearly everyway, just like her mum - _except _for dragon riding!" Hiccup stopped clamoring with his current project to give Gobber a glance, then a brief nod to continue.

"The girl excels in every class, from 'Prehistory of Berk's People' all the way to combat. Now, she does struggle a bit with the physical strength part, but I cut her slack because of her size. I suppose that started when the scrawniest Viking became the Hero of Berk." Gobber gave a supportive smile to Hiccup.

"And you should see her Archery. Odin's Beard, that's something else! Did she ever mention to you that she can hit a target _BLINDFOLDED_!" Hiccup looked up with a proud smile, and Gobber gave a forceful pat to his back (nearly knocking the younger man down in the process).

"Yeah, just one good look at the thing, and she can pop it dead center. The other kids can barely graze it _without _the blindfold." Gobber had covered his eyes for a reference, but quickly removed the hooked hand away from the soft tissues of his face.

"I bet you she'd be able to hit a target dead center while riding. Yup. If only the blasted dragons suited her!" The larger Viking smashed his good hand down onto the table. Hiccup glanced at him, and then gave a tired sigh.

"How did 'Hiccup the Dragon Whisperer' sire 'Magpie the Excels at Everything But Riding Dragons' eh?" Gobber quirked a bushy eyebrow.

"Well, how'd 'Stoic the Viking Warlord' spawn "Hiccup the Useless'? Explain that one." The smaller man contended.

"Touché."

As the Chieftain-to-be began to exit his workshop, the blacksmith put a hand on his shoulder.

"But, think about this; what is she going to do when the final exam rolls around and she doesn't have a dragon? She'll be heartbroken."

"I know."


End file.
